


Last Night

by LadyAkumu



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Adult Content, Comedy, F/M, Original Character(s), Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 20:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAkumu/pseuds/LadyAkumu
Summary: “I might be a virgin, Claire, but I’m not a dumba*s.”  Famous last words, Steve!





	Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> *This story is rated M for strong language and numerous sexual and otherwise adult situations.*
> 
> OH MY GOD THIS FIC IS FINALLY DONE AND POSTED! 8D
> 
> Five years ago, Sheenah and I agreed to a trade. She shared scans of a Steve x Claire doujinshi with me. In return, I was to write a "more adult" Steve x Claire fic for her.
> 
> Over the course of those five years, many things happened to me. Some of them were quite bad. I was also busy, and when I had spare time, I was lazy. As a result, this fic sat unfinished on my PC for several years.
> 
> So first, I wish to issue an apology to Sheenah for making her wait so long on this fic. I sincerely hope it's worth the five-year wait.
> 
> Second, a huge shout-out to '90s Barenaked Ladies and blink-182 as well as '80s and '90s teen comedies for inspiring this story's tone. Seriously, I can't count the number of times I listened to "Pinch Me" and "Dammit" to dig myself out of Writer's Block for this fic.
> 
> And third, this fic was a lot of fun to write. It's the first comedy I've written in a long time. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
> 
> This author's note reads like an award acceptance speech. Whatever. Let's get on with the fic! -Caitlin xo

So you want to know what happened at Claire’s place last night, huh?

 

Well, all right, I’ll tell you _exactly_ what happened.

 

But first, we need to visit the far away land of 1998.  Back when AIM was a thing, girls thought Lance Bass was straight, and an evil pharmaceutical company called Umbrella got away with kidnapping people.

 

I was one such person.  For a while there, I was all alone in the world, with no one or nothing to care about me.

 

Then I met Claire.

 

Claire was unlike anyone I’d ever met.  She was brave, resourceful, and smart.  But above all, she was kind.  She did a thing that most people don’t bother doing: she cared.

 

She cared about my problems.  She cared about my feelings.  She cared about me.

 

In return, I did what any scrappy teenage boy would do: I fell in love.

 

I told her, too.  Right after I took a fatal blow to the stomach.  I mean, I was dying, so it wasn’t like I had anything to lose if she rejected me.

 

But I didn’t die.  I just passed out due to severe blood loss.  And when I woke up, it was not Claire who stood over me, but an old weirdo in sunglasses named Albert Wesker.

 

See, right before I “died,” I was injected with this regenerative virus called the T-Veronica virus, and it healed me.  A crazy woman named Alexia Ashford injected me with it in part to test it and in part to avenge her equally crazy twin brother Alfred, whom I’d killed.

 

Wesker was about as hospitable as Alexia and Alfred.  After he removed the virus from my body, he decided to keep me around as a T-Veronica antibody supply box.  I got a cell with a bed and stringy soup every day.  No sunlight.  No television.  No Internet.  No girls.  And no lotion to do anything about it.

 

I became a master of self-denial.

 

Fast-forward to a week ago.  The BSAA busted into the complex where I was held for eleven long years and got me out.  The troop was led by a guy named Chris, who turned out to be Claire’s brother.

 

When Chris and I called Claire, she was ecstatic to hear I was alive.  She took off work and drove to the BSAA base where Chris and the other guys had taken me.  As soon as she saw me, she threw her arms around me.  The lavender scent of her brown hair, banded in a ponytail, tasted sweet.  Even sweeter was how her D cup squished my chest, like the softest of pillows.

 

Claire waited until Chris left us alone to ask me to stay with her.

 

“It’s what makes the most sense,” she said.  “The base is too far removed for you to find a place to live or figure out what you want to do.  If you stayed with me in the city, you’d get to check things out.  Try them before you commit to anything.  Besides, there’s so much to see and do in New York.  I can show you all of it.  I mean, I’d still have to go to work during the week, but on the weekends, we can do whatever you want, Steve.”

 

“That sounds amazing, Claire, but where am I going to sleep?  What am I going to wear?  I can’t wear the same shirt and pants every day.  I did that while I was imprisoned, and it smells weird by the fifth day.”

 

She laughed.  “I have a couch you can sleep on.  It’s big and comfortable.  I’ve fallen asleep watching TV many, many times on it.  And I keep a week’s worth of clean clothes for Chris in my apartment.  Come on!  It’ll be fun.  Like old times, but without monsters and crazy people trying to kill us.”

 

“Fun” was one word for it.  “Nerve-racking” was another.  I hadn’t seen a woman, let alone stayed under the same roof as one, since I lived with my mom when I was seventeen.  And _this_ woman was a woman I’d cared about for just as long.  Not that I didn’t trust myself, but what was I going to do if I -- or rather certain parts of me -- reacted the wrong way at the wrong time?

 

Then again, we were both adults.  And the closer I was to Claire, the happier I’d be.

 

So I said, “Well, okay, if you’re sure --”

 

“Steve, are you ready to talk housing options on the base?” Chris said behind us.  He was wearing his BSAA uniform with a bulletproof vest over it.  “I know one guy looking for a roommate, but he drinks from the jug, and he does weird things with his toenail clippings.”

 

“Actually, Claire offered --”

 

“I offered to show him a place where he can stay.  You know what?  I’ll drive him there now.  Bye, Chris!”

 

Grabbing my arm, she yanked me out the bunker door before Chris could even get a word in.

 

As soon as we climbed inside her car, she said, “Sorry about that.  Chris has this ‘big brother’ complex where he’s suspicious of any guy I invite over.  I’d rather him not know you’re staying with me.”

 

“Uh, okay,” I said, getting the feeling that wasn’t a good idea.

 

During the car ride and whole week that followed, we never once talked about The Elephant In The Room, a.k.a. my teenage confession of love.  Claire got up, went to work, and came home.  Meanwhile, I played catch-up with the modern world using two sites called YouTube and Wikipedia.  I made us breakfast and dinner, watched the shows I’d watched when I was a teenager, and attempted to clean.  (I say “attempted” because Claire told me to leave the laundry alone until Saturday.)  When I wasn’t busy, I thought about what I wanted to do now that I was my own man.

 

But neither of us mentioned those three words I’d said to her all those years ago.

 

Which brings us to last night.

 

I’d say it started about seven-thirty, because Claire left work at five and got home around six.  We had dinner, which consisted of sandwiches, and then she jumped in the shower.  Meanwhile, I sat at the small dining table, looking at college pamphlets that she had picked up for me.

 

When she came out, she was wearing a camisole, a little pair of cloth shorts, and a very cute, very _thin_ pink bathrobe, the same night clothes she’d worn all week.  The same night clothes I’d learned to avoid looking at if I didn’t want my dick to twitch.

 

She walked to the fridge, opened it, and bent over.  I fixed my eyes on the pamphlet in front of me.

 

“I’m going to have a Mike’s or two before I go to bed.  Help get me loosened up,” she said.  “Hey, Steve, is there anything you want?”

 

It took me about three seconds to realize she wasn’t asking what I thought she was asking.  “Sure, I’ll have a Mike’s.”

 

I didn’t look up until a bottle sat on the table and Claire had taken a seat across from me, where the table covered what the bathrobe didn’t.  

 

“Thanks,” I said, twisting off the cap.

 

“You’re welcome.”  She took a sip from her Mike’s and pointed at the pamphlet.  “So do you see anything you’d be interested in doing?”

 

I choked on the Mike’s.

 

“You okay?”

 

Clearing my throat, I nodded.  “I don’t know.  I never was very good at school or anything.”

 

“Hm.  What about job training, or the military?  Or—oh!  How about the BSAA?  I’m sure Chris could pull a few strings and get you in.”  She leaned back, and suddenly everything that the table covered was very _un_ -covered.  “It’s always good to have someone inside.”

 

I stared down at the pamphlet.  “Yeah.”

 

“Boy, I sure could go for another one.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Another Mike’s,” she said, holding up her empty bottle.  “It’s Friday night, and it’s been such a long week.  You know what?  I _will_ have another one.  What about you?”

 

“Another one would be great,” I said, taking a long swing off my bottle.

 

So we had another one, and another one, and another one.  We talked about her job, living in New York City, and high school.  While we were talking about her douchebag Prom date, she scooted beside me.

 

At some point, everything we said became very funny.  We started laughing and laughing and laughing.  I even stopped caring whether or not I saw anything Claire’s bathrobe was supposed to cover.  (And let me tell you, I saw quite a bit.) 

 

Then came a loud beating on the kitchen wall.

 

“ _Keep it down over there!  I’m trying to watch_ The Bridges of Madison County _!_ ” yelled a voice on the other side of the wall.

 

 “Sorry, Mrs. Francelli!” Claire yelled back.

 

 “Who?” I said.

 

“ _Shh!_ ”

 

 “Who?” I whispered.

 

“Mrs. Francelli, my neighbor.  She’s about eighty years old.  Blind as a bat, but she can hear everything.  She’s also kind of a pervert, especially when it comes to Clint Eastwood.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Hey, I never noticed before.”  She leaned in close.  “Your eyes are green.”

 

“Yeah,” I said.

 

She leaned in closer.  “I always thought they were blue.  Like, when I’d think about you before, I always imagined they were blue.”

 

I sat back.  “No, they’re green.”

 

“They’re a really pretty green.  Like the grass, or a tree.”  She poked me under one eye, then the other.  “When I was little, I liked to lie in the grass under this big tree we had in our backyard and pretend I was a cat.  A cat named Loonette.”

 

 “Claire, I think you’re a little drunk.”

 

She snickered.  “I think I am, too.  But that’s okay, because I haven’t been drunk in a long time.  A really long time, actually.  It’s been a really long time since you’ve been drunk, too.  Since you _could_ be drunk.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And it’s been a really long time since I’ve done something else.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“This.”

 

She kissed me.  

 

I kissed her back.

 

And we kept kissing, and kissing, and kissing.

 

I couldn’t believe how lucky I’d gotten.  Just last week, I was serving eleven-to-life in one of Tricell’s facilities.  Now I was a free man making out with Claire Redfield, the girl of my dreams since I was seventeen.

 

Claire ran her fingers through my hair.  I wound my arms around her and drew her to me.  Trailing kisses along my jaw, she slipped one hand under the brim of Chris’s baggy shorts.

 

I jumped like I’d been shocked.

 

Claire stared at me, panting.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Don’t you think we’re moving a little fast here?” I panted back.

 

“I think we’re moving at just the right speed,” she said as she dove in for another kiss.

 

I held her back.  “Claire, you’re drunk.   _I’m_ drunk.”

 

“I’m not _that_ drunk.  Are you?”

 

That was a good question.   _Was_ I that drunk?  I didn’t think so.  I was super-happy and all, but I still had the presence of mind to act rationally.  Like, if the building had caught fire right then, I would have most definitely evacuated.  

 

So I said, “No, not really.”

 

“Well, okay then.”  She grabbed Chris’s shirt and yanked me back to her.

 

I pushed her away again.

 

“What’s the matter, Steve?  Do you not want to do it?”

 

“It’s not that.  I just don’t want to take advantage of you, that’s all.  I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and regret being with me.  I mean, I _am_ kind of living at your place.  Plus, I don’t want Mrs. Fracielli to hear.”

 

She giggled.  “Francelli.  And I won’t regret it.  It’s so sweet of you to think of me, though.”  She put her hand on my cheek.  “You always were sweet.  It’s one of the things that I like about you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.  I, ah, hope you don’t think _I’m_ using the fact that you’re staying with me to take advantage of you…?”

 

“Oh, no, not at all, Claire.” (Not that I would have minded.)

 

“Good.”  She kissed me along my jaw.  “And as for Mrs. Francelli…what do you say we go back to my room?”

 

I opened my mouth to say _“Absolutely!”_ but her lips were on mine before I could get out the first syllable.

 

It dawned on me that this would be a great time to bring up The Elephant In The Room.  But then she grabbed the collar of Chris’s shirt, pulled me up, and shoved me against the wall dividing the kitchen and hall.

 

She wound her arms around me, her lips all over my face and neck.  Wrapping my arms around her, I shoved her against the hall wall.  She let out a moan.  I smacked my lips against hers, muffling it.

 

There came another loud beating on the kitchen wall.

 

“ _I said keep it down over there!_ ” yelled old Mrs. Francelli.

 

“Sorry!  I’m moving furniture!” Claire yelled back.  To me, she said, “ _Will be_ , anyway.”

 

That got a good chuckle out of both of us.

 

Taking hold of Chris’s shirt, Claire yanked it off me and tossed it on the floor.   Following the shirt were the shorts, which landed near the shirt.

 

Somehow I got the belt of her bathrobe untied.  As soon as I did, she leapt on me.  It was all I could do to grab her in time.  But even if I hadn’t, I really doubt I would have dropped her because she latched onto me pretty tightly.  Hooking one arm then the other around my neck, she shrugged out of her bathrobe.  It went floating to the floor.

 

By the time we were on the bed, her camisole and cloth shorts were gone.  Lo and behold, Claire lay under me, totally naked except for a pair of red panties.

 

It was like God had not only answered my prayers but decided to go above and beyond the call of duty to make up for all of those years of spiting me.  At this rate, I’d win the lottery and not have to worry about what to do with my post-Tricell life.

 

The Elephant In The Room could wait a little longer.

 

She pulled off the briefs.  By then, I was at full-mast and flying proudly.  She rolled me onto my back and straddled me.  I had just hooked my thumbs through her panty straps when she tore her lips from mine.

 

“Hold that thought.”  She reached into her nightstand drawer.  “Here.”

 

In her hand was a condom packet.

 

“Put this on,” she said, and lowered herself to me.

 

I just laid there for a minute, letting her make out with my neck, while I looked at the packet.  How was I supposed to put on a condom while making out with her?  I mean, it wasn’t like I had any experience with that kind of stuff.  And I sure as hell didn’t want to show her what a lame-o I was by asking.

 

“What’s the matter?” Claire asked between kisses.

 

“Um.”

 

She laughed.  “Don’t tell me you’ve never put on a condom before!”

 

I guess my silence said everything, because she stopped kissing me and climbed off.

 

“ _Oh._  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

 

I sat up.  “It’s not like I went out of my way to tell you or anything.”

 

“Well, this is what you do: you put it on the tip, like this, and roll it down.”  She made an O with her hand and slid one finger through it.  “It’s really easy.”

 

“I know _how_ to do it.  I’ve just never actually done it before.”

 

Ripping open the packet, I slid out the condom.  It slipped through my fingers and fell on the sheets.

 

“Do you need any help?” she asked.

 

“Nope.”

 

I picked it up and dropped it again.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Positive.”

 

I had to pinch that little bastard by the teat, but I got it on.

 

“There.”

 

“It won’t come off?”

 

I tested it.  “Nope.”

 

“Good.”  She tackled me onto the bed.

 

Now I’d like to tell you that that’s when I, Steve Burnside, lost the virginity that had plagued me my whole life to the girl of my dreams, Claire Redfield.

 

But no.

 

_Oh_ , no.

 

Just as we were about to do it, someone decided to bang on Claire’s door.

 

We figured if we just ignored whoever it was, they’d eventually get bored and go away.

 

But _no_.

 

The person just kept banging and banging and _banging_ on the damn door.  I’m surprised old Mrs. Francelli didn’t start yelling at us again.

 

With a sigh, Claire got up, slipped on her shorts and camisole, and left the bedroom, saying she was going to get rid of whoever it was.  I laid there, soaking up the fact that I was naked on Claire’s bed, about to get it on with her and finally, _finally_ lose my virginity.  

 

Then Claire said, _“What?”_

 

I got up and peeked into the hall.

 

Standing in Claire’s doorway was a curly-haired chick about her age.  The chick held a kid that looked about a year old.

 

“I’m sorry, Peyton, but tonight’s just not a good night,” Claire was saying.

 

“ _Please,_ Claire?” said the chick, Peyton.  “It would only be for an hour, tops, I swear --”

 

She froze when she saw me.

 

“ _Oh._  I’m so sorry, Claire, I didn’t know you had, ah, company over.”  She took a step into the building hall.

 

Claire turned to see what had made Peyton jump like a stripper out of a wedding cake.  And boy, did her eyes bug out when she saw me.

 

Peyton was saying, “I’ll just get Mrs. Francelli or the Hungs or someone to watch her for me --”

 

“No, wait, Peyton, it’s okay.  Really,” said Claire.  “This is my friend, Steve.  He’s staying with me until he gets his own place.”

 

I took this and the not-very-happy look on Claire’s face as my cue to get my ass out of the bedroom.  So I turned to grab Chris’s shorts and shirt.

 

Only they weren’t there.  They were on the hall floor, because I was a total idiot and had left them there.  

 

I opened the drawer where she kept Chris’s clothes.  It was empty.  All of them were in the laundry basket.

 

“Steve?” Claire called.

 

“Just a sec.  I’m, uh, looking for something,” I called back, rifling through the other drawers.

 

I found two handguns, a box of magazine clips, and a black, lacy bra that went with a black, lacy pair of panties.  All interesting, but none helpful.

 

The only guys’ clothes were the briefs lying on the bed.

 

“ _Steve!_ ”

 

I yanked on the briefs.  “All right, I’m coming!”

 

The only piece of clothing she had that remotely fit me was the bathrobe, which lay near the door.  Throwing it on,  I pulled down the front and walked into the hall with a smile so big I thought my face was going to crack.

 

The kid pointed at me.  “Lady!”

 

“Shh, sweetheart, that’s not a lady.  That’s a man wearing a ladies’ bathrobe,” Peyton said.  

 

“Indeed, it is,” I said, “and the reason why I’m wearing a ladies’ bathrobe is because I misplaced the clothes that Claire’s brother was nice enough to lend me and thought I should check her room to see if she had any more.”

 

“Is that them on the floor?”

 

I looked at the shorts and shirt.  “Oh, there they are!” I said as surprised-like as I could.  “Guess I dropped them on the way to the bathroom.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Steve, these are my neighbors, Peyton and Morning-Star,” Claire said.

 

“Morning-Star?”  I looked at the kid.  “Is your middle name Light or something?”

 

Peyton stared at me.  “Yes.  Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.”

 

“Oh.  Huh.  Morning-Star Light.  That’s… _unique_.”  I smiled at the kid.

 

“Now you be a good girl and listen to Aunt Claire and her friend.”  Peyton handed the kid to Claire.  “Thank you _so much_ for doing this, Claire.  I swear I’ll only be an hour this time.  We’ll skip the Vaseline and go straight to the elbow grease.  Granny will pop out of the toilet in no time.”

 

And she was out the door before Claire could even say, “No problem.”

 

Claire turned, the kid’s head lying on her shoulder, and gave me the old stink-eye.

“What?” I said.

 

She rolled her eyes.  “Morning-Star, would you like something to drink?”

 

“Milk, pease.”

 

Without so much as a glance at me, Claire went to the fridge and grabbed the milk jug.  She dug out a small plastic cup and filled it half-full.

 

“Look, if it’s about What’s-Her-Face who named her kid ‘Morning-Star Light’ seeing me --” I started to say, but Claire gave me a look like I should shut up before I got slapped.

 

She shoved the jug back into the fridge.  “Put your clothes on.  Then give me my robe back.”

 

Now, I’m not the type of guy to take shit from anyone (except, you know, creepy old guys in sunglasses).  But considering I was this close from sealing the deal -- not to mention I had no job, no money, and no home -- taking shit seemed like the lesser of the two evils.  So, tugging down the bathrobe, I grabbed Chris’s clothes, went into the bathroom, and came out fully covered.

 

I hadn’t even had sex yet, and I was already pussy-whipped.  

 

Claire had the kid in one arm with the cup raised to her mouth.  When Claire saw me, she turned so she and the kid were facing the wall.

 

I tossed the bathrobe on the table.  “You know, I was just making sure you were okay.”

 

“I _know_.”

 

“Then why are you being all _‘reow!’_ with me?”

 

She whirled around.  “Because this is _my_ apartment, and _I_ can make sure I’m okay.  I was just about to get her to go away, but then you just _had_ to walk out completely _naked_ \--”

 

“Hey, I was not ‘completely naked.’  And anyway, so what?  You’re an adult.  I’m an adult.  What’s-Her-Face is an adult.  We’re all adults here --”

 

“No, we are _not_ all adults here,” Claire said, nodding at the kid.  “And her name is _Peyton_ , and I don’t want her to think she can’t ask me to watch Morning-Star because I’ve got naked men who don’t know how to be discreet over at my apartment.”

 

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who got me naked in the first place --”

 

“And _you’re_ the one who couldn’t stay in the bedroom and let me handle things in _my_ apartment.”

 

The kid shoved the cup away and started fussing.  Setting it on the counter, Claire rubbed the kid’s back.

 

“Well, if that’s the way you want it, then fine,” I said. “The next time someone knocks on your door, I’ll just stay in the bedroom.  Even if it’s an ax murderer.  Even if it’s a BOW.  Even if it’s Albert Wesker himself.  I’ll hide in the bedroom with the door locked, like the shameful secret I am, and let you deal with whatever it is by yourself.”

 

“ _Good_ ,” Claire snapped.

 

“ _Good_ ,” I snapped back.

 

That’s when the kid exploded.

 

One second we were standing there, up in each other’s faces, and the next, Claire was a creamy puke-sicle.

 

“Oh, Morning-Star!” she wailed, holding the bawling kid out in front of her.

 

As bad as Claire had it, the kid had it worse.  She was literally covered from head to toe in puke.  When Claire held her out, it slid off the kid and hit the floor with a big _splat._

 

I laughed so hard I had to grasp the table edge.  Claire gave me a look like she’d wring my neck if she wasn’t already holding onto that kid.

 

“Shut up, Steve!”

 

That made me laugh harder.

Mrs. Francelli beat on the wall.   _“I said keep it down over there!”_

 

Claire carried the kid over to the counter space beside the sink, puke plopping on the floor.  

 

“Oh, Morning-Star.  It’s okay, sweetie,” she said as she wiped the kid’s face with a wet rag.  “Steve, get the floor.”

 

“What, you’re not going to banish me to the bedroom so you can deal with it by yourself?  I mean, this is _your_ apartment --”

 

“I swear to God, Steve, if you don’t take care of the floor right this _second_ , I will throw you on it and rub your face in it!”

 

When she said that, her teeth were gritted, and she looked pretty serious.  So shrugging, I grabbed the roll of paper towels off the counter.

 

By the time I was done, she had gotten the kid’s shirt and pants off and laid them on the counter.  The kid sat in the sink, naked except for a diaper, not bawling anymore but still pretty red-faced.  Claire held the kid’s blond hair under the faucet, rinsing the tips.  

 

She shut off the water.  “There we go.  All clean,” she said with a big smile.

 

The kid didn’t look any happier.

 

“Now it’s time for me to get all clean.  Steve, I’m going to take a shower.  Dry her off with this.”  Opening a drawer, she laid a cloth towel on the counter.  Then she grabbed the pukey clothes.  “I’ll wash these and put them in the dryer. ”

 

To the kid, she said, “Now, sweetie, Steve’s going to watch you for just a minute while I go wash off.  If he does anything silly, you have my permission to smack him.”

 

The kid’s face lit up.  “Smack!” she squealed, slapping my hand.

 

Claire grinned.  “That’s right.”

 

After she left, I turned to the kid.  She was wearing a big, open-mouthed smile.

 

“Smack!” she said, slapping my hand again.  “Smack, smack, smack, smack --”

 

“Okay, okay, _hey_!”  I grabbed her little fist.  “Stop with the smacking all ready!”

 

She got a good giggle out of that one.

 

She stopped long enough for me to finish drying her off.  Tossing the towel on the counter, I picked her up and carried her to the couch.  I set her on one of the cushions, but she fussed until I picked her up again.

 

“What’s wrong now?” I asked.

 

With one finger, she poked my nose.  Then my cheek.  Then my earring.

 

“Lady,” she said.

 

“I’m not a ‘lady.’  I’m a man.  Your mom’s a lady, and so’s Aunt Claire.”

 

“Lady.”

 

“Whatever.  It’s not my fault I don’t have a job or a home or money or an active sex -- _dating_ life.”

 

I doubt she understood half of what I said, but she still had a good laugh at it.

 

I got to thinking, _eh, kids aren’t so bad.  They’re pretty cute when they want to be_.

 

And I thought that maybe one day when I’d gotten my life straightened out -- when I finally had my own place with my own bed and money to make sure they stayed mine, and I’d finally, _finally_ gotten laid -- I’d like to have kids.  Like, maybe being a dad would be a pretty okay thing, especially if it was with Claire.

 

Then the kid yanked on my earring.  I screamed and dropped her on the floor.  She started screaming, and Claire ran out of the bathroom, screaming at me.  I screamed back, and since the kid wouldn’t stop screaming around me, Claire screamed at me to go back to the bedroom.  Then Mrs. Francelli beat on the wall and screamed at us to stop screaming.

 

Basically, there was a lot of screaming.

 

After I shut the door, good ol’ blue balls came knocking.  I gently rolled off the condom and tossed it in the trash can under the nightstand.  It wasn’t like I’d need it.  No way would Claire still be in the mood to do me after I’d dropped a kid she was supposed to be taking care of.

 

Sighing, I lied on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my dick aching, wondering why my good fortune had suddenly decided to throat-punch me.

 

And still Claire and I had not addressed the Elephant In The Room.

 

xxx

 

An hour later, Peyton picked up her kid.  By then, she had quieted down and stayed quiet, thank God.

 

As soon as the front door shut, Claire called my name.  I found her sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands.

 

“Look, Claire, I’m really sorry about screaming at you and getting you in trouble with Mrs. Francharelli and dropping Morning-Star and --”

 

“Steve, just _stop_ , please.  My head is pounding.”

 

“I’ll get some aspirin --”

 

“No, come here.”  She pointed at the floor in front of her.  

 

I walked to where she was pointing.

 

“On your knees.”

 

Slowly, I got on my knees.

 

She whipped off her shirt and turned so her back faced me.  “A little help, please.”

 

Confused, I undid her bra clasp.  She shrugged out of the bra and, setting my blanket on the floor, laid face-down on the couch.

 

She buried her head in her arms. “Well?”

 

“Well what?”

 

“Well give me a massage, doofus.”

 

“Uh.  Okay.”  I placed my hands just under her shoulder blades and started moving my fingertips in gentle circles.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Steve.”

 

I shrugged.  “A minute ago you were ready to bite my head off.  Now you want me to give you a massage.”

 

“You have a lot to learn about women, Steve.”

 

“Gee, I wonder why.”

 

She was silent for a moment.  “You’re right.  You’re trying so hard.  A lot of guys would’ve left as soon as Peyton showed up.”

 

“In all fairness to them, it’s not like I have a lot of options in the way of housing right now.”

 

She shifted so she could look at me.  “You’re not happy here?”

 

“Of course I’m happy here.  I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, clothes on my back -- courtesy of your brother.”

 

She giggled.

 

“I’m safe from creepy weirdos in sunglasses.  And I get to live with you.  What’s not to like?”

 

She smiled.  “I’m glad you feel that way, Steve.”

 

A blush blazed across my face, so I looked away.  This was as good a time as any to bring up The Elephant In The Room.

 

But instead I said, “Is that too hard, or do you want me to get harder?”

 

“It’s great, but I _would_ like you to get harder.”

 

Grabbing Chris’s shirt, Claire yanked me down until our mouths locked.  She kissed me again and again as she sat up, a grin stretched across her face.  She pulled me onto the couch.

 

“Lie back,” she purred.

 

Gently, she pushed on my chest.  I didn’t go with it.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I mean, on the couch?  Where people sit?”

 

“We could do it on the floor if you want.”

 

“The couch is fine.”

 

I lied down.  Crawling between my knees, she tugged off the shorts and briefs.

 

“I see I don’t have to do much.”  She looked up at me, grinning like the Devil on Sunday morning.  “We’ll work on that.  Starting now.”

 

She lowered herself to my crotch.

 

Now, I’d like to tell you that that’s when Steve Burnside got his first blowjob courtesy of the beautiful, coy Miss Claire Redfield.

 

But no.  Oh no, no, no, no, no.

 

Before Claire could even open her mouth, a loud _pop_ rang through the apartment.  We sat up and looked at the kitchen wall.

 

“What was that?” I asked.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

A fizzing sound followed the pop.  Then a scream.

 

“Oh my God, Mrs. Francelli!” Claire said, jumping off the couch.  She threw on her shirt and bathrobe.  “Steve, come on!”

 

When the briefs and shorts were up, I followed her into the building hall.  We dashed left to the neighboring apartment door.

 

Beating on it, Claire called, “Mrs. Francelli?  Are you okay?”

 

The door opened.

 

In the doorway stood a little, old lady, soaked to the bone.  She wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her long, crooked nose.  Watery chunks of blue eyeshadow and mascara smeared her cheeks.

 

“Oh my God, Mrs. Francelli!”  Claire ripped off her bathrobe and wrapped it around the old woman’s shoulders.  “What happened?”

 

“It was those awful pipes,” she replied.  “I told Richard there was something wrong with ‘em months ago -- I could hear a hissin’ when I turned on the water in the kitchen sink -- but you know how he is.  Laziest landlord I’ve ever had.  Anyway, when _Bridges_ went off, I was doing the dishes and couldn’t stand it anymore, so I finally decided to do something about it.  But, well...”

 

She turned and looked behind her.

 

Water gushed from under the kitchen sink.  The resulting puddle covered the entire kitchen floor, seeping into the living room carpet.

 

“Holy shit,” I said.

 

“Who’s here, Claire?” she asked, squinting.

 

“Oh, Mrs. Francelli, this is my friend Steve.  He’s staying with me until he finds his own place.”

 

“A _friend,_ eh?”

 

Smiling gap-mouthed, the old woman touched my chest.  She patted down my ribs, then my stomach.  When her fingers threatened to graze my half-raised dick, I jumped back.

 

She laughed.  “Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, sweetie.  My hearing might be razor-sharp, but that doesn’t mean my eyes are.  Please, come in.”

 

She took hold of my wrist and tugged me inside.  For someone so old and little, she had quite a grip.

 

Winding her arm through mine, she squeezed my forearm. “Oh my, you’ve got some muscle on you!”

 

I looked at Claire for help, but she was too busy burying her laughter in her fist.

 

“With muscles this hard,” Mrs. Francelli said, “you’ll have no trouble turning the water off.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.  I don’t really know anything about plumbing --”

 

“It’ll be fine.  It’s only a leaky pipe that needs tightening.  Oh, Claire, please be a dear and keep calling Richard for me.  You know where the phone is.”

 

“Of course, Mrs. Francelli.”

 

I glared at Claire.  She gave me a big, ol’ grin before prancing off to the phone.

 

Mrs. Francelli finally released me when we stood ankle-deep in water with more of it spitting across our shins.  On a dry section of the counter sat a wrench alongside a box of tools.

 

The leaking piping underneath, I saw when I bent over, had socket screws holding it together.  Grabbing the socket wrench from the box, I climbed under the sink.

 

The old woman pulled up a kitchen chair behind me.  “So, Steve, where are you from?”

 

“Vermont,” I yelled over the rush of water.

 

“No need to raise your voice, sweetie.  Remember: razor-sharp hearing.”  She poked me in the back with one crooked, wet toe.  “How did you meet Claire?”

 

I plugged the wrench into a socket.  “It’s a long story.”

 

“You know, I have long stories, too.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” I said, pulling on the socket.

 

“Oh, darling, you’re such a tease.  I can see why she likes you.  You’re muscular, you’re funny, you’re charming.  It’s a shame my eyesight is so bad because I bet with that red hair of yours, you’re a regular Robert Redford.  You might even be better-looking than Clint Eastwood.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You know,” she said, prodding my neck with the same toe, “I think you’re probably... _too_ experienced for her.  I think you’d be happier with a gal who has more experience.”

 

She ran her toe down my spine.  Jolting, I banged my head on the sink’s metal underbelly.

 

“Steve, are you all right?” she had the nerve to ask.

 

I shook my head, willing the pain away.  “Yeah.”

 

“What’s happened?” Claire said.

 

“Oh, nothing.  Stevie just hit his head, that’s all.”  Mrs. Francelli squeezed my shoulder.

 

“Be careful, Steve!”

 

“I’m trying!” I said.

 

I was trying, all right -- trying to slide my shoulder out of Mrs. Francelli’s grip.

 

But the old bag wasn’t having it.  Instead, she got on her knobby knees and started rubbing my back -- not unlike how I’d rubbed Claire’s.

 

“Oh, Steve, Steve, Steve.  You’re so _tense_.  I know because I spent seven years working as a masseuse at a massage place in Brooklyn.  You know how you can cure that?”

 

I yanked on the wrench as hard as I could.  “I can think of one way.”

 

In my ear, she whispered, “So can I.”

 

Then slipping her hand over my thigh, she went straight for my dick.

 

I’d like to tell you that that’s when I said, “enough is enough,” kicked her off, and told her if she didn’t keep her pervy hands to herself I’d crack her in the jaw with that wrench.

 

But that is not what happened.  Not in the slightest.

 

Instead, the screw chose that exact moment to pop loose.  The piping burst, and a blast of water hit me and the old bat square in the face.

 

Mrs. Grabby Hands did not like that one bit.

 

As soon as Claire helped her to her feet, Mrs. Francelli started raging about how I didn’t know what I was doing.  I raged back that I’d told her straight-up I didn’t know what I was doing, so she couldn’t blame me.  I also raged that the screw popped loose because of her sexually harassing me.

 

She didn’t like that one bit either.

 

She threw us out.  Ripping off Claire’s bathrobe, she chucked it into the hall after us.

 

Claire picked up her bathrobe.  “Well, that was interesting.”

 

“Interesting for you, maybe.  I’m the one who got violated.”

 

“She certainly turned out to be more devious than I expected.”

 

We walked back to Claire’s apartment.  While Claire was twisting the key in the door, the door behind us opened.  Peyton and Morning-Star stuck their heads out.

 

“What’s going on?” Peyton asked.

 

“You don’t want to know,” we said at the same time.

 

Peyton looked from me to Claire.  “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

The kid glowered at me.  I glowered at her right back.

 

xxx

 

Since Chris’s shirt, shorts, and briefs were all wet, Claire gave me a towel to tie around my waist and then stuck the clothes in the dryer.  When she came out of the bathroom, she sat beside me on the couch.  We both took a deep breath and sighed.

 

“This night is not what I was hoping it would be,” she said.

 

“Me neither.”

 

“I wanted us to have a memorable night.  I wanted _you_ to have a memorable night.”

 

“It’s definitely been memorable, that’s for sure.”

 

Groaning, Claire buried her face in her knees.  I put my hand on her back and rubbed it gently.

 

I wanted to bring up The Elephant In The Room so she’d know I cared more about her than having sex.  I opened my mouth and then closed it about three times because I didn’t know if telling her would upset her more.

 

So I just said, “You know, we don’t have to do it tonight.  We could watch a movie or something.  Do laundry so I don’t get caught naked again.”

 

“At this rate, the washer would blow up.  I’m surprised the dryer hasn’t yet.  You know what I really need?”

 

“Sex?”

 

“Besides that.”  She hoisted herself to her feet.  “Some fresh air.  Want to join me?”

 

“Depends.  Is it windy tonight?”

 

She got a good laugh out of that one.

 

She led me back to her bedroom and opened the window.  First she climbed out, and then she helped me climb out while I clinched the ends of the towel.

 

The night was warm and calm -- as calm as a night in Queens can be, anyway.  Claire has one of the highest apartments in her building, so she has a choice view of the cityscape.  We stood at the guardrail, admiring the city lights gleaming against the black sky.

 

“I used to think that’s what it’d look like when you got close to the stars,” she told me.

 

“Peter Pan would have a hard time finding the second star to the right.”

 

“I didn’t take you for a Peter Pan fan.”

 

“I’ll have you know that _Peter Pan_ was my favorite movie when I was in second grade.  In fact, to this day it is still my favorite Disney movie.”  I gripped the guardrail.  “Of course, I haven’t seen a Disney movie since 1998.”

 

She laid her hand over mine.  “We’ll have to get you caught up sometime.”

 

She kissed me on the cheek.  Then the lips.

 

Then I turned and kissed her full-on.

 

Then the dryer buzzer went off.

 

We tried to ignore it, we really did.  But the damn thing just kept going off and off.

 

Claire broke away.  “I should get that before Mrs. Francelli starts pounding on the wall again.  I am in too good a mood to deal with her right now.”

 

“That makes two of us.”

 

I followed her into her room.  As soon as my feet hit the carpet, the phone rang.

 

“Could you get that, Steve?”

 

“Sure,” I said, heading to the living room where the phone sat on a table beside the couch.

 

I picked up the phone.  “Hello?”

 

“Who’s this?” said a gruff voice.

 

“Who’s this?”

 

“This is Chris Redfield, captain in the BSAA.  Now who the hell are you and what are you doing in my sister’s apartment?”

 

“Oh, Chris!  It’s Steve.”

 

“Steve?”

 

“Yeah.  I didn’t recognize your voice.  You sound different on the phone.”

 

“It’s 9:30.  What are you doing at Claire’s this time of night?”

 

“Uh.  Well.  See, Claire’s neighbor’s been having trouble with this leak under her kitchen sink, and tonight it just would not stop, so Claire called me and asked me to come over.  To try to stop the leak.”  It wasn’t an out-and-out lie, anyway.

 

“Huh,” was how he responded. “Why didn’t she just call me?”

 

“She didn’t want to bother you.  She knows that you’re busy with work and all, and I’m not—”

 

“Oh, right.  Because you don’t have a job or anything.”

 

I gritted my teeth.  “Yeah.”

 

“Who is it?” Claire called from down the hall.

 

“Well, did you fix the leak?” Chris asked.

 

“Uh.  Not exactly.”

 

“Okay.  Don’t worry, I’ll be right over.  I’ll ask Claire about our game night tomorrow when I get there.”  And with that, he hung up.

 

I placed the phone on its base.

 

“Who was that?”

 

I turned to find Claire clad in a short, green dress with her hair banded in a poofy bun.  Glittery wings sprouted from the back of her dress.  White puffballs sat upon her green slippers.

 

_“Whoa!”_ was my answer.

 

“Mmm,” she murmured, snaking her arms around me.  “Did I ever tell you I went as Tinkerbell for Halloween a few years back?”

 

“Um, I don’t think so.”

 

“Well, now you know.”  She kissed my cheek, my jaw, and then my lips.  “And I am going to make you fly, Peter Pan.  All it takes is some faith, trust, and pixie dust.”

 

She drew a small tube from between her boobs.  It was cherry-flavored lube.

 

“Oh, God, Claire --” I started to say, but she covered my mouth with another full kiss.

 

“Shh, relax,” she whispered.  “Leave all the magic to me.”

 

She then proceeded from my mouth to my neck, from my neck to my chest.  Kneeling, she planted kisses down to my happy trail.  She popped open the tube.

 

“Um.  Claire?”

 

She untied the towel and let it fall.  “Mm?”

 

“I really, really, really, _really_ don’t want to tell you this right now, but your brother’s on his way here.”

 

She tore her lips off me.   _“What?”_

 

“That was him on the phone.  He’s coming over to fix Mrs. Frankenelli’s sink.”

 

She stood up.  And boy, she did not look happy.  “It’s _Francelli._  And why the hell did you tell him about her sink?”

 

“I didn’t mean to!  He asked why I was over here so late, and it was the first excuse I could think of.  I didn’t know he’d want to play hero and come over here.”

 

Growling, _“God damn it, Steve!”_ she stomped back to the bedroom, the puffballs on her slippers bouncing.  The bedroom door slammed shut.

 

Mrs. Francelli beat on the wall.  “ _Keep it down over there!  I’m still dealing with this mess_ you _made!_ ”

 

Flopping on the couch, I grabbed a pillow, buried my face in it, and screamed.

 

When Claire came out, she was dressed in gray sweatpants and a baggy black t-shirt.  In other words, the least sexy thing in her wardrobe.  She glowered at me before throwing Chris’s dry clothes on the couch beside me.

 

“Here.”

 

“Thanks,” I said, taking them.  I slipped into the bathroom to put them on.

 

In the living room, Claire was sitting on one end of the couch.  She had her phone in her hands, her thumbs typing up a storm.

 

I sat on the other end.  “Scoring big on _Candy_ _Crush_?”

 

“Ha-ha-ha.  No.  I’m talking to a friend.  A male friend.  A really _cute_ male friend.”

 

“Whatever.  I bet you’re telling one of your girl friends how dumb I am.”

 

She paused.  “I am not.”

 

“I might be a virgin, Claire, but I’m not a dumbass.”

 

She snorted.

 

“What’s with that?” I asked.

 

“What’s with what?”

 

“That _pft!_ sound.  What’s that mean?”

 

“It means you’re _infuriating_ , that’s what it means.”

 

“If I’m so infuriating, then why do you want to jump my bones so badly?”

 

“Are you serious?  You -- You just --”  She gave up on saying whatever she was trying to say and growled instead.  She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me.

 

“Hey!  What was that for?”

 

She answered by grabbing another pillow and smacking me in the head with it.

 

“Why are you so _clueless_ _?_ ” she said between smacks.

 

I tackled her onto the couch, where I pinned her.

 

“Let me go!” she said, squirming.

 

I clamped her wrists above her head.  “Not until you stop whaling on me like a crazy person.”

 

“Trust me, Steve: you haven’t seen me whale.  But you will if you don’t let me up _right now!_ ”

 

“No deal.”

 

“Yes, deal!”

 

“Hm-mm.”

 

“Steven Burnside, if you don’t let me up right this _instant_ , I’ll knock your block off so hard you’ll be spitting teeth for a week!”

 

“Those are tough words coming from someone who can’t move.”

 

“Steve, please, let me up!”

 

“Oh, what was that?  I didn’t hear you.”

 

“Please let me up!”

 

“I’m still having trouble understanding you.”

 

“Steve, for God’s sake, _let me up!_ ”

 

I’d like to tell you that I finally relented, and we both had a laugh and kissed to make up.

 

But no.  No, no.

 

That’s when Chris unlocked the door and came in.

 

And when he saw me on top of his sister, pinning her to the couch while she pleaded to be let go, he not unreasonably freaked out.  As in, he threw me on the floor, shoved my arm behind my back, and jammed his taser into my spine.

 

“One move, and I’ll fry you like pork sausage on the Fourth of July,” he said.

 

Thankfully, Claire decided she liked me enough to convince him to let me up.

 

“Sorry about that,” he said as he helped me to my feet.  “There’re a lot of creeps out there.  And Claire’s my little sister, so I try to look out for her.”

 

“I don’t need you to look out for me, Chris,” said Claire.

 

“I know you don’t, but it’s always good to have back-up.  It’s like wearing a Kevlar vest.  There’s nothing wrong with wearing a Kevlar vest because you never know when you’re going to get shot.”  Chris beat the chest of his vest and smiled.

 

Claire rolled her eyes.  I didn’t know what to do, so I smiled back and said, “Definitely.”

 

“Say, why are you wearing my clothes?”

 

“Um.  I, uh --”

 

“Steve is staying with me -- sleeping on my couch -- while he looks for a place,” said Claire.  “We haven’t quite made it shopping yet.”

 

“Oh.  Wait, what?”  He looked from Claire to me, glowering.

 

“Steve is staying with me.  He’s sleeping on my couch while he looks for his own place,” Claire said.

 

He laughed.  “Oh, okay.  I was going to say, I’ll have to keep an eye on you, Burnside.”  He gave me a hard thwack on the shoulder.  “Anyway, where’s this neighbor with the leaky faucet?”

 

“I’ll show you,” Claire said as she led him into the hall.

 

I didn’t have anything to do, so I followed them.  I hung by the wall while Claire knocked on the old bat’s door.

 

“Mrs. Francelli?”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“My brother’s here.  He wants to help you with your sink.”

 

“Does he actually know what he’s doing, unlike What’s-His-Face?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Chris said.

 

The door opened.

 

“Good evening,” he said, all smiles and good soldier-y.

 

That made her squeal.  “I can’t see very well, but I can tell you’re a big fella with lots of muscles!”

 

“That I am.  Where’s this sink of yours?”

 

“This way.”

 

He gave her his arm.  They disappeared into the apartment, Claire on their heels.

 

“I am so glad you came over, um…?”

 

“Chris.  Wow, that’s quite a leak.”

 

“Chris!  You know, I once dated a Chris.  Handsome fella, could’ve wiped the floor with Clint Eastwood…”

 

Leaning on the door frame, I glanced inside.  Chris was squatting by the jet of water, looking under the sink, while Claire and the old woman stood beside him.

 

“It’s been spurtin’ for the past half-hour or so,” Mrs. Francelli was saying.  “I’ve been trying to call the landlord, but he won’t pick up, and I guess all the plumbers in town are off since it’s the weekend.  Claire came over with that guy, but he just made things worse.”

 

“Hm.”  Chris poked one of the pipes.  “It looks like a bad connector.  I see you got the tools for the job, but the question is, do you have a spare connector?”

 

“Oh goodness no, I don’t even know what that is.”

 

“It would be helpful if we could turn the water off.  Claire, keep trying your landlord.”  He stood up and turned to me.  “In the meantime, Steve, you go to the hardware store.”

 

He dug a bill out of his wallet and handed it to me.  Beside him, Mrs. Francelli was glowering at me.  I had a talent for making people glower at me, it seemed.

 

“Here’s a fifty.  You take a left, cross the street, and keep going.  Store’s right there.  It’s Friday, so they should be open until 11.  Get me a metal connector, an inch and a half.  Should only be ten bucks.  Bring me the change.”

 

I saluted him with the fifty.  “Yes, sir.”

 

“Ooh, I just love a man who comes in and takes charge!” Mrs. Francelli said as I left.

 

“It’s all part of my job, ma’am.”

 

“‘Ma’am!’  Such a gentleman, too…!”

 

I went back to Claire’s apartment and dug a pair of pants out of the dirty laundry.  After giving them a good spray-down with Febreeze, I slipped them on followed by a pair of boots and denim jacket the base had given me when I was rescued.  I shoved the fifty into my jacket pocket, imagining how unheroic Chris would feel once Mrs. Non-Consensual had him on his knees with his back turned.

 

As I closed the apartment door, another one shut.  Two guys stood across from Mrs. Francelli’s.  They were ogling me like I’d grown another head.

 

“Oh.  My.  God,” said the one in the baggy jacket with sunglasses on his head.  He started toward me with the guy in the Hawaiian shirt following.  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, just -- _how_ , bro?”

 

“How what?” I asked.

 

“How’d you do it?”

 

“How’d I close the door?”

 

“No, no, no!  I mean, how’d you get with the hottest chick in this apartment building?”

 

They had the exact same super-eager look on their faces.  They were wearing totally different clothes with their hair done in totally different ways, but they had to be twins.

 

The last time I dealt with crazy-looking twins, it didn’t end so well.  So I just shrugged and said, “Skills.”

 

The kid with sunglasses laughed.  “Obviously!  Bro, I tried to get with her for like a year.  I pulled out all the stops -- being sensitive, listening to her, caring about what she had to say -- but she still refused to submit to the charms of Jackie Hung.  And I am, like, Ultimate-level when comes to chicks.  You can even ask my brother Lou here.  But you, man, you got to be, like, Mega-level or something!”

 

“It’s all in the approach,” I said.

 

“I told you!” said Lou.  He looked at me.  “I downloaded a book about how to establish contact with women.”

 

“And don’t talk like that, either,” I said.  “Anyway, I got a bit of light shopping to do, so --”

 

“Can we come with you?” Jackie said.  “We’re on our way to our shop down the street, and we were talking about stopping by O’Neal’s on the way back so we can, well, you know.”  He winked.

 

Lou nodded in agreement.

 

“It’d be awesome to see you demonstrate your skills!”

 

I was about to tell him I didn’t think my lady would appreciate that, but then I remembered she was pissed at me for telling Chris about the leak.  In other words, for keeping up the lie _she’d_ started.

 

And anyway, what was a little fake flirting?  Claire’d never find out.  Plus, sex aside, I had pretty decent flirt game.  If I played my cards right, I might get Ultimate-level Jackie Hung or his nerd brother Lou laid.  They seemed like they were more squirrely for sex than I was.  So really, it’d go to a good cause.

 

“Sure,” I said.

 

“Excellent!”

 

“Say, while we’re out and about, do you mind showing me where the hardware store is?” I said as we headed to the elevator.

 

“Randy’s Hardware?  Bro, you’re in luck!  Our store is right above Randy’s.  We even chill with him sometimes.  Bro --”

 

“Steve.”

 

“It’s like we were fated to meet at this exact place in time!”

 

“Predestination,” said Lou.

 

“Exactly, bro, predestination…!”

 

Their shop turned out to be an electronics business.  Lou does all the electronics work while Jackie handles the hustling and accounting.  They make a nice enough living to rent an apartment and office space, or so Jackie told me on the way down.

 

Once we were outside, we veered left to the corner, where we crossed the street.  On the adjacent corner was O’Neal’s.  It was a bar, as I’d expected -- a dark, dingy-looking one, too.

 

Several shops down was the hardware store with a door beside it that led up to HUNG BROS. REPAIRS AND CUSTOMIZATIONS.  After I got the connector, I went upstairs to find Jackie and Lou sitting in a messy room filled with a zillion radio, TV, and computer parts.

 

“Got it,” I said, holding up the bag.

 

“Awesome!  Now let us make our way to O’Neal’s, gentlemen!” said Jackie.

 

Lou nodded and grabbed an old boombox.

 

Inside, O’Neal’s was just as dark and dingy as it looked from the outside.  Shady clientele that eyeball you the second you open the door.  Tabletops that give you Hepatitis just thinking about touching them.  Cigarette smoke with a faint trace of puke that clogs your nostrils.  Definitely not a place I’d go to pick up chicks, no matter how desperate I was.

 

But Steven Theodore Burnside is no liar.  And he most definitely isn’t a coward.

 

“Which one?” I said to Jackie and Lou.

 

They scanned the bar a minute before Jackie said, “Ooh, her!  The blonde at the bar!”

 

The blonde in question had her back to us.  She was wearing a purple jacket with leather pants and boots.  Pinching a cigarette between two fingers, she threw back a shot and motioned for another.

 

I claimed the stool beside her.  As far as bar chicks go, she was pretty cute.  Probably not Jackie or Lou’s type, but wasn’t that the joy of youth?  Discovering who you were and what you were into, or some poetic crap like that?

 

“What’s your poison?” I asked over the loud music.

 

“Scotch.  Straight.”

 

“Nice.  What’s the occasion?”

 

The bartender set the shot in front of her.

 

“Finally tossed out the trash tonight,” she said, downing it.

 

“What?”

 

“I broke up with my asshole boyfriend.”

 

“Oh.  Well, congratulations.”

 

“Thanks.”  She glanced at me, and her eyes widened.  “Actually, you want one, too?”

 

“I’d love one.”

 

“Hey!  Two this time!” she yelled at the bartender.

 

I looked at Jackie and Lou sitting in the corner.  They were practically foaming at the mouth, they were so excited.

 

The woman slid me one of the shots.  “Here ya go.  Drink up, cowboy.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“What’s your name, anyway?”

 

I brought the glass to my lips.  “Steve.”

 

I threw it back and promptly spit out the liquor, coughing.  I would have cussed, too, if my throat weren’t burning like the fires of hell on a summer afternoon.

 

“You okay?” she said.

 

I nodded, still coughing.

 

She banged on my back.  “We need some water over here!”

 

As soon as the bartender set it in front of me, I flushed it down my throat.

 

“Have you never had scotch before?” she asked.

 

I shook my head.  “I mainly stick to beer.  What’s your name?”

 

“Victoria,” she said with a big smile.  She pulled a card out of her jacket pocket.  “Victoria Heyworth.  I sell life insurance.  Give me a call if you need coverage.  Or _anything_.”

 

I slipped the card into my own jacket pocket.  “I’ll be sure to do that, Victoria.”

 

“So, if I may ask, what are you doing here?  You don’t exactly look like the type that peruses this kind of joint.  You’re too cute.”

 

I once heard that the fastest way to deflect a question is to ask a question.  So I said, “Well, if I may say so, you don’t look like the type that peruses this kind of joint.  You’re too sweet _and_ too cute.  What are you doing here?”

 

That got a giggle out of her.  “No, you’re right.  I came here because I wanted to drown my sorrows, and one of my friends said this place has the cheapest booze in the neighborhood.”  She took another drag off her cigarette.  “The jerk I was dating didn’t accept me for who I am.  He wanted me to do a bunch of stuff that I didn’t want to do, but I did it anyway to please him.  Then he flat-out refused to do anything that I wanted to do.  And he’d go out of his way to make me feel bad about it.  What I wanted to do, I mean.”

 

“Wow.  What a jerk.”

 

“Yeah.  Like, I already knew what I wanted to do was kind of weird, but at the same time, he was my boyfriend.  And I did what he wanted me to do, you know?  Since I was open to doing what he wanted, he should have been open to doing what I wanted instead of being a judgmental jerk about it.  Am I right?”

 

“You are so right.  I tell you what: the next round is on me.”  I held up one of Chris’s twenties.

 

Now, I didn’t mean to take this next part as far as I did.  I figured I’d get us a couple of cheap drinks, throw away the hardware store receipt, and tell Chris that Randy had inflated the shit out of his connector prices.

 

But it turned out Victoria has expensive taste in drinks.  She also has what seems to be a bottomless purse when it comes to buying them.  Before I knew it, we were both plastered and laughing like O’Neal’s was the greatest time ever.

 

At one point, I glanced at Jackie and Lou.  Their jaws had dropped, and they were staring at me with a look of godly admiration.  A nice change from all the glowering.

 

I turned back to Victoria.  “So, Victoria -- dear, sweet, cute Victoria -- may I ask you a question?  Just the tiniest, littlest question?”

 

“That depends on what it is, dear, sweet, cute Steve.”

 

“These things you wanted to do -- what were they?  ‘Cause I’m picturing, like, watching a Lifetime Original Movie marathon or taking a yoga class together.  But my gut tells me that probably isn’t it.”

 

She laughed.  “No, it isn’t.”

 

I raised my drink to my lips.  “Then what, pray tell, was it, Queen Victoria the First?”

 

Biting her lip, she said, “I wanted to tie him and the neighbor guy up, flog them for being naughty boys, and then do them at the same time.”

 

I choked mid-sip.  She covered her face with her hands and started crying.

 

“Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have told you!  I’m so stupid!  Now you’ll hate me and think I’m a freak too!”

 

When my throat was clear enough, I said, “No, no.  You just caught me a little off-guard.”

 

“You don’t think it’s sick, do you?”

 

“Hey, if you like two guys at once, then you like two guys at once.  Simple as that.  And truth be told, it sounds like he deserves a little flogging.”

 

“You’re so sweet for saying that.”  She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight.  “I wish I’d dated you instead of him.”

 

But I wasn’t paying attention.  I was too busy thinking, _Two guys, two guys, two guys_.  Victoria was probably a smidgen too intense for Jackie and Lou, but I figured any interaction with a woman -- especially under my supervision -- would do them good.  So I waved them over.

 

“Hey, listen.  I know two guys --”

 

She laid a big one on me, so wet it put Mrs. Francelli’s busted pipes to shame.  I honestly thought I would drown in that girl’s spit.

 

A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

 

Before me stood Claire.  She was wearing a baggy jacket.  In her hand, she carried a Randy’s Hardware bag.

 

Most notable, though, was the expression on her face.  She looked like Mount St. Helens about to erupt.

 

“So _this_ is what you’ve been doing this whole time.  Having drinks with _her_.”

 

I started to say, “No, Claire, it isn’t what you think,” but she was already heading for the door.

 

Jumping off the stool, I ran to her.  When she didn’t turn, I grabbed her wrist.  She whirled around and punched me right in the face.

 

I stumbled back, cupping my nose.  Blood gushed across my palms.

 

When I looked up, Victoria was standing in front of me.  She looked about as happy as Claire.

 

“Was that your girlfriend?” she demanded.

 

“Yes...No...I’m not sure.”

 

Her boot flew up and nailed me in the dick.  Howling, I fell on the bar floor, which was sticky with I-don’t-want-to-know-what.

 

“Next time, _be_ sure.”

 

She kicked me in the leg before marching outside.  A storm of clapping followed her.

 

I was drunk, writhing in pain, and lying in unknown sticky stuff on a bar floor.  I had been not-undeservingly punched, kicked, and publicly humiliated.  Likely I was also homeless without so much as a penny to my name.

 

But the only thing I could think about was how much I’d hurt Claire.  And how dumb I was for not telling her I still loved her.  And how I might not ever get the chance again.

 

xxx

 

Jackie and Lou helped me up and hauled me back to the apartment building.  Jackie kept my nose pinched so no more blood would splatter Chris’s shirt.

 

I was hoping Claire would calm down by the time we got to her and Jackie and Lou’s floor.  No such luck.  Jackie and Lou stood by as I beat and beat and beat on the door.  I yelled “I’m sorry, please forgive me”s like a sinner in Confession.

 

Finally, the door opened.  But Claire was not the one who answered it.

 

It was Peyton.  Glowering at me, of course.  She opened the door as far as the safety chain would go.

 

“Where’s Claire?  I need to talk to her,” I said.

 

“I think you’ve done enough to Claire for one evening.  If you try again tomorrow, you might get lucky and burn her apartment down.”

 

“What the hell is your problem?  I helped take care of your kid --”

 

“And you dropped her on the floor.  You know, as much as I hate seeing Claire hurt, I’m happy this is happening now instead of later, when kids might be involved.  Who knows how many people you’d hurt then.”

 

I was just about to tell her where she could stick her stupid judgments when the door closed.  When it reopened, the chain was gone, and Chris stood in Peyton’s spot.  He was -- what else? -- glowering at me.

 

“Let me clarify for you what Peyton is saying,” he said.  “You’ve upset my sister.  If you continue to upset her, which it seems you are bent on doing, I’ll cram your head through a wall.  I’ve done it to men who are bigger than you.  And sober.”

 

With that, he shut the door.

 

Jackie and Lou were nice enough to invite me to stay at their place.  I sat on Jackie’s red faux fur chair, one icepack on my nose and one on my dick.  He and Lou took the two beanbags.  Jackie brought us each a Root Beer while Lou tinkered with his boombox.

 

“Two chicks at once, man,” Jackie said, sitting on his beanbag.  “Mega-level.”

 

“Yeah, well, it didn’t work out so hot.”

 

“But still, you were working it, bro!  That’s way more than me and Lou could’ve done.”

 

“What are you talking about?  I thought you said you were ‘Ultimate-level.’”

 

“Well, more like Champion-level-going-on-Ultimate-level.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Lou looked up from the boombox.  “What my brother means to say is, we’re both virgins.”

 

Jackie nodded.  “Yeah.  Kind of.  Yeah.”

 

The squirreliness suddenly made sense.  It seemed I had a lot to learn about people, not just women.

 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, so am I.”

 

Jackie and Lou’s eyes bugged out.

 

“ _You?_  But you totally had that chick in O’Neal’s going, and she was _fine_.”

 

“Victoria Heyworth.”  I pulled out her card, looked at it for a second, then let it slip through my fingers.  “And yeah, she was.  But she wasn’t Claire.”

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, bro, what’s the deal with you and her?  ‘Cause, like, after the eleventh time she said no, I figured she was into chicks.”

 

I shrugged.  “We met a long time ago.  I’d lost my family, and she was looking for her brother, so we were both alone in a really crazy situation.  I saved her life a few times.  She saved mine a few, too.”  Setting down the icepack, I took a sip of Root Beer.

 

“That’s intense, bro.”

 

“What happened after that?” asked Lou.

 

“I was in a really bad place.  Chris -- that’s her brother -- helped get me out.  Then she offered to let me stay with her.”

 

“So she saved your life, then she gave you a place to live.”

 

I downed another sip.  “Yep.”

 

“Do you love her?”

 

Staring at the can, I nodded.  “Yeah.  I do.”

 

Jackie whistled.  “That’s Mega-level intense.”

 

“Does she know that?” Lou asked.

 

“I don’t know.  I told her once, years ago.  But I don’t know if she remembers.  I was hoping to tell her again, but I was dumb and didn’t.  Now I might not be able to.”  I took a big gulp of soda.  “Life isn’t like the movies.  That’s for sure.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Anyway, to the Perpetual Virgins Club,” I said, holding up my can.

 

We clicked our Root Beers together and threw them back.

 

Mid-throwback, Jackie spat out his soda.  “Holy shit!  Movies!  _Say Anything_!”

 

“The John Cusack movie?” I asked.

 

“Yeah!  Chicks love that movie!  They all want their boyfriends to stand outside their window with a boombox --”

 

“And we have a boombox here,” said Lou.  “Jackie, you’re a genius!”

 

“I think I know where you guys are going with this, and no.   _Hell_ no.  I am not standing on a New York City street at 11 at night, blasting a boombox.”

 

“Aww, why not?”

 

“Well, for one, we’re so high up I doubt she’d hear it.”

 

Jackie smiled like Satan had tickled him.  “No, sir, not with this boombox.  Lou is a master of hybrid electronics.”

 

Turning the boombox, Lou pointed at the speakers.  “I found a couple of old woofers at the junkyard, did a little rewiring, and set them in here.”

 

“Woofers?  Like car woofers?”

 

“Indeed, my man,” said Jackie.  “You won’t find a better boombox for your next house party than this baby right here.”

 

“So you want me to stand on a New York City street at 11 at night, blasting a boombox that’ll wake up everyone on the block?  Thanks, but I’ve already made enough people angry at me tonight.”

 

“No, no, no!  People love romantic guys.  They cheer them on.  When they see you trying to get your chick back, they’ll be like, ‘You go, bro!’”

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

“Don’t you want to get Claire back?” said Lou.

 

“Of course I do.  But I don’t think this is the way to do it.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“First, I don’t think she’d like it if I woke up her and the entire block.  Second, she doesn’t want to talk to me.  If she did, she wouldn’t have Judge Judy and Brother of the Year guarding her door.”

 

Lou sighed.  “Look, I admit I don’t know a lot about how to interact with women.  But I do know a lot about anime and video games.  And in all of my years of anime and video game consumption, I’ve never found a couple more obviously meant to be together than you and Claire.  You saved her, but she also saved you.  Nothing speaks to the depth of a human connection more than one partner saving the other, and I find that both heart-warming and moving.  Plus, I saw you guys together, and I’ve talked with you separately.  You’d make a cute couple.”

 

“True facts,” said Jackie.

 

“You and Claire are my OTP, Steve.  I’ll support you guys until my dying breath.  But the question is: do _you_ support you guys?”

 

I don’t know what it was about that nerdy kid’s speech that got me going: his earnestness or the alcohol I was still pretty buzzed over.  Regardless, within five minutes I was standing on the street with the boombox in my hands.  Lou and Jackie were with me, Lou fiddling with the iPod dock he’d installed in the tape deck.

 

Once the dock was closed, Lou pressed PLAY, and then he and Jackie ran across the street to give me space.

 

I held up the boombox.

 

The music started.

 

Thanks to Jackie’s insistence, the song that played was the same song from the movie.  The opening synth notes exploded from the speakers.  The boombox rocked like a jackhammer between my hands.

 

By the end of the first chorus, most everyone in the building plus the two buildings beside it had their heads sticking out of their windows.  Some of them were yelling at me.

 

I paid no attention, though.  The only person I cared about was Claire.

 

Finally, her window opened.  She climbed onto the fire escape.

 

“ _Claire!_ ” I yelled as loud as I could.

 

I tried to find the volume.  None of the buttons I pressed did anything.  I ended up setting the boombox facedown on the sidewalk, where it was at least a little quieter.

 

“ _Claire, I’m so sorry!  I’ve been a complete and total moron.  But before you decide to never talk to me again, I have to tell you something.  I still mean what I said all those years ago.  I...I love you, Claire!_ ”

 

She shouted something back.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

The guy below her yelled, “ _She says she loves you too, so shut the fuck up and turn the fucking music off already!  I got to get up early!_ ”

 

Cheering and clapping erupted.

 

“ _For real?_ ”  I looked from him to Claire.  “ _For real?_ ”

 

She nodded.  I could make out her saying, “ _Yes, Yes, Yes!  I’m coming down!_ ”

 

She disappeared into her room.  From across the street, Jackie and Lou hooted and hollered.

 

“ _Well, thank Jesus.  Now turn that goddamn radio off so the rest of us can sleep_ ,” said some lady on the second floor.

 

“ _Sorry!_ ” I yelled to all the heads.

 

“ _Go fuck yourself_ ,” was someone’s response.

 

I popped open the boombox’s battery hatch and flipped out one battery.  The boombox went silent.  Between Claire’s declaration of love and the quiet, my ears had never been so happy.  In fact, _I_ had never been so happy.

 

The Elephant In The Room was gone.  Claire knew I loved her, and she loved me back.

 

Now, I’d like to say that that’s when she came running outside and jumped into my arms, and I swung her around and we kissed just like in the movies.

 

But no.  Ohhhh, no.

 

Apparently someone had called the police about the hapless guy with the loud boombox, playing ‘80s music at 11 at night, because said police rolled up right that very second, red and blue lights flashing.

 

What followed was my fault.   I tried to bolt into the building, but the cop in the driver’s seat was out and had me pinned to the ground before I could even get to the door.

 

Shoving my hands behind my back, he hauled me to the squad car.  While he held me against the car, the other cop made me take a breathalyzer test.

 

You can guess how I did.

 

As they shoved me and the boombox into the backseat, I saw Claire standing in front of the building.  She tried to run to me, but one cop told her to stay back.  She and Jackie and Lou watched as I rode away.

 

The NYPD have this policy about not letting you go until the alcohol on your breath reaches a certain level.  So not only did I get processed, photographed, and fingerprinted like a criminal, I got thrown in a cell like one.

 

And there were other people in it.

 

All of them were as smashed as a damn beer bottle.  Most of them were sleeping, thankfully.  The only guy who was still awake took one look at my swollen nose and laughed like a guy getting punched was the funniest thing ever.

 

Turned out, they picked him up at O’Neal’s.

 

They let me go at half past two.  I got to walk -- all by myself, thank God -- to the front desk and pick up Lou’s boombox.

 

While I was signing it out, a hand grabbed my chin and turned my head.  Then someone was kissing me full on the lips.

 

Claire was the one who broke the kiss.  “Steve, that was so _stupid_ of you!”

 

“In my defense, it worked.”

 

That got me a smack in the head.

 

“Please sign here, and you’re free to go,” said the policewoman behind the desk.  She looked from me to Claire with her eyebrows raised.

 

I grabbed the boombox, and together Claire and I headed for the front door.

 

“The next time you do something like that, I’m going to make you walk home by yourself,” she said.

 

“Would you really do that to someone who reenacted _Say Anything_ for you?”

 

“For your information, l hated that movie.  You would’ve been better off sticking to ‘You Can Fly.’”

 

I opened the door for her.  “I’ll file that away for future reference.”

 

We took the first cab we could flag down.  We sat in silence through the whole ride, Claire resting her head on my shoulder with her eyes closed.

 

The silence lingered through the walk to the front entrance and the elevator ride up.  When the elevator opened on Claire’s floor, we stepped out together.

 

“Claire?  I really am sorry.  I was an idiot.  I thought I was doing Jackie and Lou a favor, and, well, I was mad at you --”

 

“They told me after you left.  You have every right to be mad at me.  I shouldn’t have expected so much out of you, especially after everything you’ve experienced and, well, haven’t experienced.  So I forgive you.  _This_ time.  And I’m sorry, too.”

 

“It’s okay.  I guess whether or not you’re experienced, a new relationship is something you’re always a beginner at.  If that’s what we have.  I mean, if that’s what you want us to have.”

 

She took my hand in hers.  “It is.  As long as it’s what you want, too.”

 

“Hell yeah it is!”

 

She laughed.  Winding her arms around my neck, she kissed me and pressed her forehead to mine.  “Good.  What do you say we, ah, consummate our relationship?”

 

“What about your brother and Peyton?”

 

“Peyton took Morning-Star to their apartment, and Chris went home.  We’re all alone.”

 

“Then I say, ‘It’s about damn time.’”

 

Grinning, she pulled me toward the door.  As she was digging out her keys, I remembered the boombox.

 

“Shit.”

 

“What?”

 

I held up the boombox.

 

“You can’t give it to them tomorrow?”

 

“I mean, Lou made this thing himself, and they were nice enough to lend it to me…”

 

She sighed.  “I guess one more minute won’t hurt us.”

 

We walked to Lou and Jackie’s apartment.  I knocked on the door.

 

They opened it together.  For a second, they just stood there in their matching red bathrobes, looking half-dazed.

 

Then Lou pumped his fist in the air and yelled, “ _Hell yes!  Cleve lives!_ ”

 

“Cleve?” I said.

 

“Yeah.  You know.  ‘Claire and Steve.’  Cleve.”

 

“Okay.  Well, here’s your boombox.  Thanks,” I said, handing it to him.

 

“I told you, Steve: you guys are my OTP.  I’ll support you until my dying breath.  Lending you a trivial piece of machinery is the least I can do.”

 

“Oh, bro, that reminds me.”  Jackie disappeared for a second and then returned with the Randy’s bag.  “Here’s your connector.”

 

I took it.  “Thanks.  For everything, you guys --”

 

“Did someone say, ‘cleave?’”

 

Two arms snaked around Jackie and Lou.  Victoria popped between them, totally naked, looking as dazed as they did.

 

That is, until she saw me.

 

“ _You_ ,” she snarled.

 

“And _you_ ,” I said.

 

“And _you_ ,” she said to Claire.  “What the hell are you still doing with this asshole?”

 

“Vicky, we told you: Steve’s a cool guy,” Jackie said.

 

“Besides, he belongs with Claire,” Lou added.

 

Victoria snorted.  “Whatever you say, baby.”  She kissed Lou on the cheek, then did the same to Jackie.  “See you in bed.”

 

“Okay!” they said, grins cracking their faces, as she disappeared into the apartment.

 

I watched all of this with a slack jaw.  “ _How?_ ”

 

“How what, bro?”

 

“How’d this happen?”

 

“Oh, well.  After you left, I found her card on my chair.  And we thought --”

 

“Actually, _I_ thought we should take a chance,” said Lou.  “After what you did to get Claire back, it seemed stupid not to.  Life is too short.  And Cleve is too inspiring.”

 

“Well, that’s good, Lou.  I’m proud of you guys.”

 

“ _James!  Louis!_ ” came Victoria’s voice.

 

“Got to go, bro.  We’ll fill you in later,” Jackie said.

 

“ _Cleve forever!_ ” Lou got out right before the door shut.

 

“Well, that was interesting,” I said to Claire.

 

“‘Interesting’ is one word for it.  ‘Creepy’ is another.”

 

“Aw, they’re nice guys, Claire.  Real quirky.  Plus, they support us.  What’s not to like?”

 

“Yeah, I give it 48 hours before Lou posts his first fanfiction about us online.”

 

“Fanfiction?”

 

“Fan-written stories.  Usually used to pair two characters together.”

 

“Well, I’m down for any story that pairs us together.”

 

Claire rolled her eyes.  “Steve, you have a lot to learn about the Internet.”

 

We headed for Claire’s apartment.  My eye caught Mrs. Francelli’s door.

 

“How’d things turn out with Mrs. _Fran-chel-lee_?  I notice she’s oddly quiet,” I said.

 

 “Chris installed the connector I got.”

 

“Good.  That means I can return this one and get him some of his money back.”

 

“He’d appreciate that.  Especially considering what happened after I went back to my apartment.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Mrs. Francelli tried to do to him what she did to you.”

 

“And?”

 

“And according to him, he grabbed her tightly by the shoulders and told her she would sit somewhere not within his eyesight or she would wait for Richard to fix her pipes.  She chose the former.  Needless to say, I don’t think she’ll be bothering us for a while.  We should take full advantage of her silence.”

 

She took my hand, and we ran to her apartment.  Once we were inside, she wrapped her arms around me and practically attacked my mouth.

 

But I didn’t kiss her back.

 

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.  It was that I didn’t understand why _she’d_ want to.

 

The Elephant In The Room was back, and bigger than before.

 

She pulled away.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Steve.”

 

“Well, it’s just….I’m in my late 20s.  I don’t have a job.  I can’t support myself --”

 

“That’s not your fault.  It’s Umbrella’s and Wesker’s.”

 

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have anything to offer you, Claire.  I’m not strong.  I don’t have any goals.  I don’t have anything going for me.  The person you should be with is someone who has all those things.”

 

“It takes time to get that stuff.  I spent most of my 20s trying to find where I fit in life.  I mean, I thought I knew, but Umbrella slapped me in the face.  Then finally, it all fell into place.  The waiting sucks, I know, but it will fall into place, Steve.  Until then, you have to stop beating yourself up over it.

 

“And besides, I love you for _you_.  Not for your job.  Not for your goals.  Not for what you have to offer me.  For _you_.  And for your information, you _are_ strong.  Very.  Very.  Strong,” she said between kisses.

 

“You mean that?”

 

“Of course I do.  You’re one of the strongest, bravest, sweetest people I’ve ever met, Steve.  That’s why I love you.”  She came in for another kiss.  “And after everything we’ve been through tonight, if I don’t have you right this second, I’m going to handcuff you to the bed and take you myself.”

 

“You have handcuffs?”

 

Grinning, she nuzzled me.  “Oh, I have all sorts of things, Steve.  I can’t wait to show them to you.”

 

“I’m down for a peek now.”

 

She laughed, and we buried ourselves in each other.

 

Of course, the very second we turned toward the bedroom had to be the second I remembered where I’d just spent part of the night.

 

“Wait, I should shower first.”

 

“Why?  I’m just going to get you dirty again,” she said, planting her lips on my jaw.

 

“Because I spent three hours in a jail cell.”

 

As soon as I said that, she froze.  Her face crinkled like a candy wrapper.

 

“I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.  Don’t take too long.”

 

And I assure you, I did not.  I was in and out in three minutes, max.  Water streamed off me as I shot to the bedroom door, a towel around my waist.

 

I placed one hand on the towel, ready to whip it off.  Then I stepped into Claire’s room.

 

She lay in the middle of the bed.  She was wearing her lacy black bra and lacy black panties, which sent ripples through my dick.  One hand snaked above her while the other lay on her hip.  In short, she looked ready for a long early-morning of Cleve-time.

 

There was just one problem:

 

She was asleep.

 

The long night full of aggravation and no sex had finally gotten to my lady.  She was out cold as an ice cube, snoring like a little kitten.

 

Clutching the towel, I settled beside her.  At the foot of the bed was a folded blanket.  I spread it over us and wrapped my arm around her.

 

“Steve?” she slurred between snores.

 

I brushed her hair from her face.  “Yeah?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Going to sleep.”

 

I stroked her cheek.  Her eyes stayed shut, her mouth half-gaping from her slacked jaw.  The most beautiful sight on earth.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.  Sleep.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

I kissed her on the forehead.  Her lips twitched, like she was smiling, and she curled into me.

 

Kissing her again, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

 

xxx

 

I’d like to say we slept a restful sleep and that when we woke up, the last member of the Perpetual Virgins’ Club traded in his V-card for something way better than involuntary celibacy.

 

But, well, you’ve read this much of this story.  You know how my luck is.

 

The water from old Mrs. Francelli’s pipes got into the wall and totally soaked through.  So instead of little morning birds chirping, Claire and I awoke to the sound of an emergency drywall service ripping out the wet drywall.

 

Of course, my and Claire’s history being what it is, we thought all the banging was Tricell beating down Claire’s door to kill us.  So, slipping on a t-shirt, Claire pulled the two handguns out of her dresser.  She handed one gun to me, gave me a clip of ammo, and slapped a clip into the other gun.  Then we padded into the hall and peered around the corner.

 

The drywall guy was standing in the kitchen.  All of the countertop cabinets were pulled out and stacked along one wall.  Where they’d been, there was a giant hole that exposed the sink piping.  The drywall guy rammed the crowbar through another section of wall, widening the hole.

 

“What the hell?” I said.

 

The guy heard, turned, and screamed bloody murder.  He dropped the crowbar and threw his hands in the air.

 

“ _D-d-don’t shoot!_ ” he squeaked.

 

“Eh?  What’s going on here?”  A guy with a graying mullet and sideburns poked his head through the hole.  “Claire?  The hell’re you doin’?”

 

“Richard!”

 

Claire lowered her gun.  I followed her lead.

 

“What’s going on here?  Why is half my wall missing?” she asked.

 

“Soggy drywall.  I’m sure you’d rather have a hole than mildew.”  He pointed at the guns.  “Say, could you and your friend put away the hardware?  You’re freaking out Stan, and we kind of need him to stick around if you want a new wall by this evenin’.”

 

“Is that Claire?” came Mrs. Francelli’s voice.

 

“Now who else would it be, Evelyn?”

 

“That male friend of hers.   _Steve_.  He’s the one who did all of this.”

 

“Hey, I was just trying to help!” I said.  “And I would’ve gotten it too if you had kept your creepy, old hands to yourself --!”

 

“Okay, okay, okay, _okay_.  Everyone just calm down.  Breathe.”  Richard closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

 

“‘Calm down?’  I will not ‘calm down,’ not with that guy over there.  First, he flooded half of my apartment, then he woke up the whole building with some obnoxious music, and through it all you never answered your phone or any of your messages --”

 

“I’m a landlord, Evelyn, not a nanny.  Actually, I take that back.  I am a nanny to my sister who can’t handle her own teenage daughter, so she calls me up whenever my niece comes home with a joint or new piercing and has me deal with it.  Which is what I was doing last night.”

 

“Excuses, excuses.  It makes me wonder what you’d do if Mr. Handyman here had blown up the building.  Thank goodness the police carted him off before that happened.”

 

“I knew it!  You _were_ the one who called the cops on me!”

 

“I wish I had, but someone beat me to it.  I imagine it’s only a matter of time before I’ll get to.”

 

“Someone should call the cops on _you_ , you dirty old pervert --”

 

“Okay, okay, _God_ ,” said Richard, taking another deep breath.  “I have no idea what went on here last night, but the situation is the same.  The sink sprang a leak.  The leak got worse.  The wall and part of the floor need to be totally redone.  So let’s all just stop our yackin’ so Stan here can at least get the wall done today.  Can we agree on that?”

 

“Yes,” Claire said.

 

She elbowed me.  “Yeah,” I said.

 

“Evelyn?”

 

“...yes.”

 

“Yes,” Stan said.  He still had his hands in the air.

 

“Okay.  We’ll deal with all this who-did-what crap later.  Now please, for the love of God, Claire, whoever the hell you are, put the guns away.  Stan, you can put your hands down now, man.”

 

We turned toward the bedroom.  Claire took my hand.

 

“Oh, Richard.  This is Steve.  My boyfriend,” she said, practically beaming.

 

“Hey,” I said, beaming myself.

 

Richard just looked at us. “Congratulations.  I’m sure you two’ll be very happy together.  Now get rid of the guns.  Jesus Christ.  And Evelyn, no more harassing people or I’ll evict you.  Got it?”

 

“Hmph…!”

 

Since our choices were either stay in and hang out with a guy who’d be making a hell of a lot of noise or go out, we opted to go out.  After we did a load of laundry and I finally had clean clothes on my back, we had breakfast at a cafe around the corner.  Then we took the subway to Manhattan and spent pretty much the whole day sightseeing.  We got ice cream at a vendor in Time Square, went to the top of the Empire State Building, and went shopping so I’d actually have my own clothes.

 

Afterward, we took a stroll in Central Park.  When we got to a green space where a bunch of people were sunbathing, we decided to do a little sunbathing ourselves.

 

There I lay, eyes shut, one hand behind my head, the other holding Claire’s hand as she rested her head on my stomach, both of us enjoying the early autumn sun and some much-needed peace.

 

But of course, it could not last.  No, sir.

 

Not ten minutes after we’d settled into the grass, a shrill voice cried out, “ _Ant Care!  Ant Care!_ ”

 

Guess who brought her hippie-name kid to the park?

 

When I cracked open my eyes, it became apparent that not much had changed since last night.  Both Peyton and Morning-Star had nothing but sour looks for poor ol’ Steve.

 

Setting down their bags, Peyton sat in the grass with Morning-Star on her lap.  She very flagrantly ignored me except for the few times she shot me a look of absolute loathing.

 

Which was better than the kid, at least.  She just stared at me with the same “eat shit” expression, which I didn’t even know one-year-olds were capable of making.

 

As Claire and Peyton talked, Morning-Star dug out a pack of stickers they bought this morning.  She peeled off a princess sticker and stuck it on her mom’s hand.   She peeled off another princess sticker and held it out to Claire.

 

Claire took it and put it on her cheek, all smiles.  “Does Uncle Steve get one too?”

 

The kid once again glowered at me.  “No!”

 

“Morning-Star!” Peyton said, grinning.  “Be nice and give him one of your stickers.”

 

Morning-Star looked at her mom, then looked at me like she was about to cry.

 

“Here, let’s give him this one.”  Peyton picked off a sticker and held it out.

 

It was a donkey.  In other words, a jackass.

 

“Cute,” I said as I took it.

 

Peyton’s grin widened.  “It matches the dark gray on your shirt.  And many jail uniforms.”

 

So old Mrs. Francelli had been telling the truth.  The real whistleblower sat before me.

 

There were two ways I could deal with this.  One would be to rage at her in front of her snotty kid and Claire.  The other would be to recognize that last night I did a bunch of stupid things and I had to make up for all of them.  Even to judgmental snobs.

 

I popped the sticker on the end of my nose.  “Do I look more dashing?”

 

The kid burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing ever.  Peyton’s grin tightened, then relaxed.

 

After that, things were...not great, but better.  Morning-Star didn’t shoot me death glares anymore.  Peyton no longer looked at me like I was a disaster waiting to happen.

 

As they were walking away, Claire said, “Steven Burnside, I am proud of you.  You handled that like a champ.  You’re learning.  And you do look more dashing.”  She kissed me on the tip of my nose.

 

I returned the kiss on her lips.  “Thank you.  I try.”

 

“It’s almost five.  What do you say we try my place again?”

 

“I say let’s get out of here _yesterday_.”

 

And so now we’re back at Claire’s, the wall completely sealed and everything back in its rightful place.  Claire’s in the bedroom, doing something that I really, really hope involves that Tinkerbell get-up.  She told me to wait in the living room, so here I am, sitting on the couch like a king on his throne, awaiting his queen’s grand entrance.

 

Many guys would view last night as the worst night a hapless virgin in his twenties could have.  Me...well...last night definitely didn’t go according to plan.  But even so, I can’t view it as a bad night.  It was actually a good night.

 

I got out.  I met people.  I made friends.  I got drunk not once but twice, and I didn’t have to pay for the booze either time.  I got punched, kicked, violated, insulted, humiliated, arrested --

 

Okay, yeah, nevermind.  Last night sucked.

 

But I still consider it one of the best nights of my life.  No, I didn’t get to have sex with my lady, but I got to spend pretty much all night with her.  We chilled.  We drank.  We made out.  We saw each other naked.  We talked.  We laughed.  What more can a guy ask for besides the company of his beloved?

 

But tonight?  Oh man, you’d better believe Claire and I are going to --

 

Hold on.  The phone’s ringing.

 

Hello?

 

Chris?

 

What ‘game night?’

 

Wait, you’re coming over _now_?

 

For how long?

 

Oh, _shit_.

 

**the end.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you would, please drop me a review telling me what I did right and what I did wrong. That way, I can keep growing as a writer and editor. :) -Caitlin xo


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